We got up at 7:00 am, got dressed, and loaded the car. That took forever. We were finally on the road at 10:45. If we could just skip the unloading and loading of the car, we could spend 5 more hours each day on the road, enjoy more stops, or get a heck of a lot more sleep.

Our hotel was only three miles from the border, so we figured we were golden. All we had to do was jump on the highway and aim for the border. Except things are never that easy for us. The route to International Bridge 2 (the one that turistas must use) is under construction. There is a detour. A winding, confusing detour through narrow streets in the shopping district crammed with pedestrians crossing the streets at random that is not well marked with signs. It only took us 4 tries and 45 minutes to end up in the right place. Completely by accident.

There is a toll booth on the US side of the bridge. We stopped and paid our $3.00 US and asked the tollbooth attendant where we needed to go to get our car permits and visas (FMTs). He gave us very clear and precise directions – that were completely wrong. The Mexican side of the border is under construction too.

We crossed the bridge, and I drove through the nothing to declare lane crossing my fingers. It worked, because we got the green light and sailed straight through. We didn't encounter a line or wait at any point. We came to the first road on the other side of the border. This is where the directions from the toll both attendant went awry. There was absolutely no way I could go where he told me to.

I must have looked quite perplexed because an earnest young man of about twenty in a bright orange t-shirt came running across the street and asked “permiso?” I nodded my head yes and he pointed to my right and then ran in that direction and disappeared. I figured what the heck and turned right. Soon I caught up to the young man who was waiting for me, waving his arms in a “come on” motion. His gestures were so big you might have thought he was guiding a 747. As soon as he was sure I had seen him, he took off again. When I found him, he was gesturing for me to take a right turn. I did and he ran off again. I'm in a car, and he's on foot, but he easily outdistances me every time. He ran to the bottom of the hill and stopped, waving me to the right again and pointing at a building. There it was – the IFE. I thanked him copiously and tipped him a few dollars US. There was no way we would have found it on our own, at least not before sundown.

We parked in front of the main entrance. While we were gathering the documents Chuck would need – passport, car title, prof of Mexican insurance – the Mexican border patrol did a circuit through the parking lot. It's a pretty intimidating thing to witness: a pickup truck with a rack, two officers in the front seat, two officers standing in the bed, one carrying an automatic rifle at the ready at all times. These are not soft agents used to no action – they are fit, muscled and alert. One of the officers in the cab was a woman. We watched them pass, and Chuck went inside.

While I waited in the truck with the dogs, the border patrol came through a few more times. All of the Mexicans seemed to ignore them and treat the patrol as normal, so I did too. I didn't have to wait long. Chuck came out 30 minutes later with the car permit and his visa. We figured out where on the window to put the sticker (high on the drivers side next to the rearview mirror) and I went in to get my visa.

To get your visa, you go in through the main doors and take a right. You go through another set of doors and enter another big room. Immediately to your left there is a line (under the big sign for banos/restrooms – go figure). Get in that line. There are several windows, but only one was open while I was there. The line was short and moved very quickly. When it was my turn, I went to the window and gave the man my passport. He asked where I was going in Spanish. I told him Mazatlan. He asked how long in Spanish. I told him I didn't know, maybe one month, maybe three, then shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. He nodded and gave me a form to fill out.

Once you get your form, turn around. There are several tables there. Go to a table. If you were not bright enough to bring your own pen (like me), you will have to wait for someone else to finish. There are several young men wearing official badges around their necks who have pens and will help you fill out your form. The problem is they don't speak English. No amount of pointing at a form field and telling me what it is in Spanish could have helped me. Fortunately, the fields are labeled in Spanish and English.

Once your form is filled out, you have to go to the bank window to pay. To get to the bank window, turn back around and walk directly to the vis window where you got your form. When your nose almost touches the window, look to your left. There is a little alcove there with a guy behind a counter. This is where you want to go. You do NOT want to wander aimlessly all over the enormous building looking for the word banco somewhere like I did. Once you are at the window, you pay your fee. You must have pesos. They will not accept US dollars or credit cards or bank cards. Once you have paid the fee, the clerk at the bank window will stamp your form as paid.

Now that your form is stamped, return to the window where you got the form in the first place. You don't have to wait in line again. Just walk up. I managed to not mess this part up. The same man was at the window, and I handed him my form. He wrote in the number of days I was allowed to stay in Mexico. He gave me the full 180 days. Then he did whatever he had to do to make the form official. When he was done, he looked my in the eye and said in English, “Thank you Jennifer. Have a nice stay in Mexico.” The whole process took 15 minutes and would have taken less if I hadn't taken such great pains to get lost inside the building.

I returned to the truck and looked at the clock. It was 12:30. The whole process took 45 minutes. I could kick myself for all the time we wasted going to consulates trying to do this beforehand.

Now we were officially on our way! Woo hoo! The signs to get out and on the road were clear and easy to follow. Trying to get to 85, we had to wait at a long light. A man came up and smeared our windshield in a half-hearted attempt to clean it. There was nothing I could do to stop him. When the windshield was good and smeary (about 3 seconds), he began talking through my window, which was unfortunately open a crack. He kept talking louder and more stridently with his lips right in the opening until we finally gave him a dollar to go away. That damn light just wouldn't change!

Nuevo Laredo proved to be a dirty, depressing city that is larger than we imagined. It went on forever and seemed like we would never escape it. There is trash everywhere, many dead dogs in the road, and people at every light aggressively trying to sell you their wares. Thanks to my experience with the window washer, I developed a strategy for dealing with them. Whenever I was approaching a red light, I would slow way down very early, then slowly coast toward the light until it turned green. That way I was always in motion and couldn't be approached very easily.

If border towns are all people had ever seen of Mexico, I can understand why they have a bad impression. But thankfully the border towns are just that – border towns – and have nothing to do with what the rest of Mexico is like

We traveled down 85 a few miles. We were on a libre and the road wasn't too bad. It was a little bumpy and had some potholes. Certainly not a road I'd want to travel for long distances, but not as bad as I had been led to believe. We got the the second border checkpoint and I ended up in the lanes for big trucks. I had to do a little off roading to get back over to the turista lanes and was grateful were in the Explorer and not my car. When we passed by the booth a loud bell rang. Crap. We got the red light. I pulled over to where the waiting agent pointed. He asked to see our car permit. The dogs were barking like mad and in general appeared very fierce. The agent was going to let it go at the car permit, but a senior agent came over and told him he had to look inside. I could see the poor agent's heart sink. I hit the button to unlock the rear door. He opened the glass. I was so glad we had put in the dog barrier. He half-heartedly moved a few things around, then closed the window and motioned us onward. The whole process took less than five minutes. Good doggies.

Shortly after the checkpoint, we picked up our first cuota. It is a beautiful road: flat, wide, generous shoulders, wide median, and as straight and the landscape allows. The closer we got to Monterrey, the more beautiful the landscape became. We snapped a few pictures as we drove. Strange trees dotted the desert floor with increasing frequency until the valleys looked like prairie dog towns on alert. We kept driving through huge clouds (groups? swarms? herds?) of brightly colored butterflies. There were occasional bugs too – great big ones - but they were hardy things that bounced off rather than splatted on the windshield.

We stopped for gas and restroom breaks at the Aeropeurto Pemex in Monterrey. It usually doesn't matter where you stop for gas in Mexico because all gas stations are Pemex. They are all government owned and all sell gas for the same price. However, if you find yourself driving through Monterrey, I highly recommend stopping at this particular Pemex. The bathrooms are inside and very clean.

We got on another cuota to Saltillo, and arrived in Saltillo with no problem. It was getting out of Saltillo that proved to be a problem. We got lost. The highway goes into the city. There is no bypass. We have discovered that Mexican road signs don't just mark the most expedient route to a destination, they mark all possible roads that will eventually get you to that destination. We pulled up to a light that had highway 45 marked to the right, left, and straight. Same thing at the next light...and the next. It took us an hour to get back on the proper road in the right direction, but we finally did, headed for Torreon.

The road from Saltillo to Torreon is long and boring. There is some farmland being developed growing I don't know what. Other than that, the most interesting thing was the no cart and horse signs with a pictograph of a guy on a cart being pulled by a horse. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the cart and horse on this big, wide highway where everyone drives way to fast. Perhaps it was too many hours looking at nothing, but it made us laugh.

We got into Torreon and realized the dogs really needed a potty break. Come to think of it, so did we. We looked and looked, but could find no likely places with grass for the dogs. Except one. We drove by the Crown Plaza and saw beautiful, lush, green grass. We looked at each other, and I pulled a quick u-turn.

I pulled into the front row of cars and Chuck went in first. I went next. I walked in past the fountains through the gleaming revolving door, where I passed the impeccably turned out bellman. From there I only had to pass the bar full of beautifully dressed women and starched men to get to the bathrooms in the rear of the lobby. I felt grungy and inadequate in my denim shorts after a full day on the road, but it was worth it. The bathrooms were clean and shining.

I returned to the car and pulled off to the side, hopefully out of direct sight of the bellman. We got the dogs out and walked them a short distance. Thankfully, they did their business in record time. We put them back in the truck and beat it out of there. And promptly got lost – again.

I think it was God's punishment for bespoiling the beautiful Crown Plaza lawn. Chuck thinks it was perhaps the festival going on. Police were directing traffic and we had no choice but to turn where they told us. We ended up snaking through a couple of parks and three squares at a snails pace. People walked so close to the truck that the dogs could not calm down. That's how we spent the next hour. Driving nowhere slowly with the dogs barking.

By the time we freed ourselves from the festival traffic another hour had passed. It took another half hour to get back on the right road. We could tell the sun was setting and we only had about an hour of daylight left, not enough time to make it to Durango before dark. We had two choices: go back into Torreon and find a place to stay or push on to Durango. We decided to push on. We drove until dark, then I slowed to 50 mph. We traveled that way for awhile. When we entered the mountains, it started to rain. I slowed to 40 mph. We were grateful that either side of the cuota is fenced, and the only livestock we saw near the road was tethered there. Nonetheless, we took it easy.

It was after 11:00 when we pulled into Durango and started looking for a place to stay. We had been told auto hotels are a good place to stay with dogs, so that's what we looked for. You can find them on the outskirts of any town. Just look for a place with individual parking places surrounded by a wall with a gate. It sounds hard, but once you see one you know. Even in the dark.

The first place we tried, there was actually a guy who came up to the car. Not what we expected. He spotted the dogs and sent us on our way. The second place had no rooms. The third place we pulled into was Villa Posado. Chuck stopped at the speaker and said, “Una habitacion, por favor.” A female voice replied “siete.”

Chuck drove down the cobblestone street passed neat Mediterranean dwellings that looked all the world like upscale apartments. Each had its own garage and flower boxes under the windows. Number seven was easy to spot because the automatic garage door was already opening for us. Chuck pulled in, parked, and hit the button to close the garage door. Chuck went inside to check it out and turned on the TV to mask any sound the dogs might make. The TV there gets ALL the channels, and I can tell you Mexican porn is the same as American porn, they just say their few, badly written lines in Spanish.

I was still checking out the place when a light knocking came from the cylinder set in the wall. Chuck put $290 pesos (about $29.00 US) in it and spun it around. That was the last we heard from anyone. There was a room service menu on the table. You can order anything you want by marking the menu and putting it and your money in cylinder. Shortly, the cylinder will turn back around with your order and your change. It's really a slick setup.

The room was meticulously clean. Everything. The toilet had one of those paper barriers on it that say “sanitized for your protection” that you have to tear off in order to use it. The shower was sparkling. There were two pairs of individually packaged shower shoes available for use. The vanity was clean and stocked with anything you might need: shampoo, conditioner, lotion, soap, shower cap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and condoms. There was also a boxed condom in the ashtray next to the bed.

The room was well appointed. There was a lounge area that reminded me of every hotel lounge I've ever been in. The bed was on a platform with a wood floor. It's enormous. The bed was so big, that if Chuck and I laid in the middle of our respective sides, I couldn't reach out an arm and touch him. The sheets and pillow cases were embroidered. The headboard had controls for the lights, TV, and telephone on both sides. Even the garage was painted and tiled. I couldn't resist taking a few pictures, but I didn't take any outside. I didn't want to make any privacy-seekers nervous.

Obviously the purpose of this setup is to give some people who need it some privacy. It can be used for illicit affairs, but often married people who need some time away from the kids or engaged couples who have nowhere else to go are the clientelle. And, of course, those of us who travel with dogs. Just be aware that this is not the place to stay if you want to go out to dinner or sight see. You don't get a key. Once you're out, that's it. The best part is the garage. We didn't have to unload the car. Or reload it in the morning. I got my wish.